


This Regrettable Game

by AceQueenKing



Category: Falsettos - Lapine/Finn
Genre: Bickering, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Mentions of Whizzer's polyamory, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 02:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20884322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: "Hey old man," Whizzer says, stumbling in from a late night out; he's all swagger and there's a cocksure grin on his face. Marvin raises a brow, flips the pages in his paper. Tries very hard to look dignified and not like a man who has come home from work and found his lover gone out and only a deeply chilled TV dinner on the counter.





	This Regrettable Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookiegirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiegirl/gifts).

"Hey old man," Whizzer says, stumbling in from a late night out; he's all swagger and there's a cocksure grin on his face. Marvin raises a brow, flips the pages in his paper. Tries very hard to look dignified and not like a man who has come home from work and found his lover gone out and only a deeply chilled TV dinner on the counter.

And nothing else. Not even a note about where he was going. Trina would have left a note. 

He doesn’t bother to look at Whizzer, figuring neglect is a weapon that can be wielded both ways.

There's President Carter. Now there's a man who looks old. Ayatollah Khomeini. Old men, and they’re a lot older than Martin. Martin might not be young, but he’s cool, he’s _hip. _Lots of fun left to Martin.

"Oh," Whizzer puffs. "Come on. Look at me."

He does not. Martin turns the page again, looks at the baseball section. Maybe it'll be the Mets’ year, huh? 1979, a hell of a year.

Whizzer whines, inches his way onto Marvin’s armchair. "I'm lonely."

"So was I," Marvin notes. This is their opening salvo, and he lets his scorn lash out, even knowing he shouldn’t resent Whizzer. He _knows_ Whizzer, and Whizzer has never made a secret of his habits. They've not monogamous and never have been but somehow it feels worse, coming home to an empty room. At least Trina would make him a pot roast, and that was in a marriage where despite all his best attempts, he could not love her despite how hard he tried.

"Oh, come on," Whizzer says, grinding his nose into Marvin's cheek. His hand reaches for Marvin's newspaper. "Just a smooch."

Marvin moves the newspaper out of Whizzer's way, flips the page. Looks like baseball season is starting again. Maybe he'll take Jason to the Mets game. Maybe it'll be a good carrot when

"Come _ooonnn_." Whizzer scrambles half into his lap, the movement blatant and tempting for all that Marvin is pissed. He plants a kiss, a big wet smack on his cheek, and Marvin tries - and fails - to not smile. "What are you so upset about?"

"I'm just not in the mood." Whizzer runs a hand up his thigh that makes his cock twitch; he needs air, needs to remind himself why he's upset. He pushes Whizzer off his lap, and Whizzer's smile fades.

"Seriously, what's with _this_?" He sneers. "Tough day at the office, honey?" He pretends to play a small fiddle and it's not the least bit funny.

"Forget it." He stalks off, opens the fridge with a satisfyingly loud noise. He reaches for the beer and scowls as he finds the carton empty; Whizzer hasn't gone grocery shopping, _again_. "Be nice if you'd do a bit around the house!" Martin calls out.

Whizzer clucks his tongue, rolls his eyes. "Sorry. Busy day out and about. You _understand_." He drawls the sentence like he's a matron queen on a Savannah veranda; his hips jut in ways that highlight all the things - and people - he's no doubt wound up using.

"I've no doubts you're _busy_," Martin strikes back. "Since the place is falling apart."

"Hm." Whizzer leans over in front of him, flexes the smooth, beautiful curve of his back as he bends to pick up a shirt laying on the floor. "Doesn't look like this is mine."

"I work for a living." This is an old argument, and he leans into the curve of Whizzer's back. His hand caresses his hip for just one moment, and he tells himself it means nothing. "You just prance around the upper west side."

"Heh," Whizzer wiggles his ass against him. "Sometimes it's the lower east side, you know. Sometimes a boy wants a nosh at Katz's Deli, you know?" He leans back against Whizzer. "Next time I go I'll bring you a salami."

"You'll forget," Marvin hisses, hatefully distracted as Whizzer grinds his ass against Marvin's cock. He's hard, and he hates that he is, but right now his anger is only about the ever-hungry man underneath him, and not at all about the Hungry Man dinner. "Like you forgot the groceries. You're so immature," he whispers, but the words are perhaps blunted by his mouth lightly tracing the path of Whizzer's neck. 

"What can I say?" Whizzer says, a little breathless but still grinding on his ass. "I'm a naughty boy. Maybe someone should..." He swallows as Marvin's hands drift closer to the edge of his belt. He doesn't turn to look at Marvin and that's just as well.

"Punish you?" Marvin mutters, and abandons the argument entirely, kissing at Whizzer's neck. Whizzer makes that harsh little whine in the back of his throat that Marvin loves to listen to, the ragged little noise that Marvin takes as a point of conquest every time.

"Yes," Whizzer hisses.

Marvin strikes him on the ass - not hard enough to hurt him much, but enough to sting, to turn the skin underneath pink. Whizzer fumbles with his belt and Marvin tugs Whizzer’s belt off, neatly throwing it on the counter. Marvin helps him pull his pants down; his own pants are too tight but that can wait, that can wait because all he wants right now is Whizzer's beautiful skill marked by his own palm.

"Bad boy," Marvin whispers in a husky, choked up voice; he strikes him again and the flesh turns a deeper pink as if Whizzer blushes under his hand. Whizzer has his hand over his cock and Marvin is torn on if he wants to take Whizzer over the edge himself or smack him again.

Whizzer leans over their countertop as Marvin smacks his ass one more time, this time on the other cheek. Whizzer grunts, the pain turning into pleasure as Marvin replaces Whizzer's hands with his own. He's always loved giving Whizzer the old rub and tug; something about touching his cock is more thrilling than touching his own. It's in the way Whizzer's lips open in a joyful smirk; in the way he whines and fumbles at Marvin's belt. Marvin chuckles and lets him undo it; he can't do much more, especially once Marvin forms a tight grip on that cock, fingertips moving in all the right ways. Just how Whizzer likes it and just how Marvin likes Whizzer: at his mercy.

"Bedroom," Marvin croaks, and Whizzer struts his way to the door. Marvin runs after him, argument unresolved and unforgotten but ultimately, unimportant.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to Whizzer's lyric in "First Thrill of Love": _I intend to upset/This regrettable game_
> 
> Whizzer's reference to Katz's Deli and the Salami is based upon a famous WWII ad campaign that Katz's used to run about sending Salamis to the troops; during the late 60's, Tom Lehrer parodied in in a vietnam-era critique: _"Remember Mommy, I'm off to get a Commie, so send me a salami, and try to smile somehow"_ \-- that's the reference that someone from Whizzer's generation would probably know. And of course, it's rather an insult, since (most) salami isn't kosher!


End file.
